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Kazuo Ishiguro is a behemoth on the modern literary fiction scene, and I've been meaning to read his work for awhile now. When my partner suggested we listen to the library's audiobook of Never Let Me Go, I was intrigued by the promised science fiction twist. What I found was a captivating, beautiful piece of art that snapped heartstrings.
Our intrepid narrator, Kathy H., tells her life story and slowly unwinds her relationships and world. From the get-go, the mystery of her surroundings--that niggling feeling that something isn't adding up--eggs us readers onward. Kathy says she cares for donors, but what are they donating and why? Why does Hailsham emphasize art so much? Why are Kathy and her best friends Ruth and Tommy so isolated from the broader world, and why do they have no hope of being integrated into it? I can't say because spoilers.
Never Let Me Go showed its literary fiction roots with its emphasis on the relationships and the intrapersonal. Ishiguro astounded me with his ability to depict what real friendships are like. Friendships are filled with in-jokes and subtext, where seemingly small gestures mean everything, and Kathy's story is filled with detours and asides to explain each one. Her cool logic, Ruth's insecure flair, and Tommy's hotheaded insight make a charismatic trio that carry this fascinating journey very well. Ishiguro's other big strengths are his pacing and mood--even at the climax I had no idea what was going to happen next. There was a constant air that anything was possible. The explanation could be simple, or it could be something stranger than I've ever dreamed. I would have accepted anything.
Taking in all this, Never Let Me Go has more than earned its awards. Yet I can't give it five stars. I don't think it's a spoiler for me to say the Hailsham's students face an ominous fate, but what surprised me was everyone's acceptance of it. Even when Kathy discovers the grimmest depths of her situation, she doesn't fight it. I think Ishiguro's choice to make Kathy, Ruth, Tommy, and everyone passive in the face of overwhelming cruelty majorly misses out on the zeitgeist of the 21st century. I know the book was published in 2010 (and therefore pre-2016 Brexit), and maybe it's a question of not holding up well. Since 2016, I've been immersed in fighting back and speaking out, so Kathy lost me when she didn't make any effort whatsoever. She had complete freedom of movement and no lack of ability to do so and yet...? The only time I've witnessed such martyrdom is to protect someone else or out of extreme religious fervor. Kathy, our logical one, is devoid of either.
To conclude, Never Let Me Go is indeed a gorgeous book, and I'd recommend it mostly to literary fiction fans who want to add a little science fiction spice to their usual. I'm still interested in reading Ishiguro's other work. The Buried Giant might be more up my alley.
Our intrepid narrator, Kathy H., tells her life story and slowly unwinds her relationships and world. From the get-go, the mystery of her surroundings--that niggling feeling that something isn't adding up--eggs us readers onward. Kathy says she cares for donors, but what are they donating and why? Why does Hailsham emphasize art so much? Why are Kathy and her best friends Ruth and Tommy so isolated from the broader world, and why do they have no hope of being integrated into it? I can't say because spoilers.
Never Let Me Go showed its literary fiction roots with its emphasis on the relationships and the intrapersonal. Ishiguro astounded me with his ability to depict what real friendships are like. Friendships are filled with in-jokes and subtext, where seemingly small gestures mean everything, and Kathy's story is filled with detours and asides to explain each one. Her cool logic, Ruth's insecure flair, and Tommy's hotheaded insight make a charismatic trio that carry this fascinating journey very well. Ishiguro's other big strengths are his pacing and mood--even at the climax I had no idea what was going to happen next. There was a constant air that anything was possible. The explanation could be simple, or it could be something stranger than I've ever dreamed. I would have accepted anything.
Taking in all this, Never Let Me Go has more than earned its awards. Yet I can't give it five stars. I don't think it's a spoiler for me to say the Hailsham's students face an ominous fate, but what surprised me was everyone's acceptance of it. Even when Kathy discovers the grimmest depths of her situation, she doesn't fight it. I think Ishiguro's choice to make Kathy, Ruth, Tommy, and everyone passive in the face of overwhelming cruelty majorly misses out on the zeitgeist of the 21st century. I know the book was published in 2010 (and therefore pre-2016 Brexit), and maybe it's a question of not holding up well. Since 2016, I've been immersed in fighting back and speaking out, so Kathy lost me when she didn't make any effort whatsoever. She had complete freedom of movement and no lack of ability to do so and yet...? The only time I've witnessed such martyrdom is to protect someone else or out of extreme religious fervor. Kathy, our logical one, is devoid of either.
To conclude, Never Let Me Go is indeed a gorgeous book, and I'd recommend it mostly to literary fiction fans who want to add a little science fiction spice to their usual. I'm still interested in reading Ishiguro's other work. The Buried Giant might be more up my alley.
When my partner and I saw Space Opera in the library, we squealed in delight. We've heard so many sparkly, decadent things about this book, and it totally lived up to the hype.
The story's glitter-drenched veneer hides a rather bleak world. It's not fifteen minutes in the future, but definitely thirty years from now, if nothing changes. After hate's triumph, a roadrunner-like alien Escra beams into everyone's living room to announce their mandatory participation in an intergalactic Eurovision-esque contest. The prize: an official declaration of sentience, a welcome mat to the galactic community, and a slice of the galactic GDP. The stakes: if their performers come in dead last, humanity will be wiped out and Earth's resources will be pillaged. To everyone's bewilderment, local glampunk messiahs Decibel Jones and Oort St. Ultraviolet are chosen to perform to prove humanity's soul. While they flail in preparing for the contest, the readers are treated to Valente's imagination-stretching descriptions of past contests and alien races.
Valente's utter mastery and love of wordcraft are the book's greatest strengths. Her descriptions are vivid, hilarious tongue twisters that had my ribs aching and me often re-reading to make sure I fully absorbed them. The book's mantra of "Life is beautiful and life is stupid" blazes its truth across the pages. The characters are heartfelt and wonderful. The book does tend to wander, which I think may explain why people lose excitement in the middle bit, but whenever we returned to Decibel my slightly flagging attention was re-caught. I especially gathered strength from the message that sometimes, when things are terrible and there's nothing anyone can do anymore, ya just gotta make art.
I feel like I can't properly describe the book, with all its outer space queer dandy panache. I haven't read a Catherynne Valente book before, but my partner assures me that Space Opera is a very Valente book(TM), with excellent David Bowie/Hitchhiker's Guide flair. If you like science fiction at all, and especially if like queer brown glamrock, rocket Space Opera to the top of your TBR.
The story's glitter-drenched veneer hides a rather bleak world. It's not fifteen minutes in the future, but definitely thirty years from now, if nothing changes. After hate's triumph, a roadrunner-like alien Escra beams into everyone's living room to announce their mandatory participation in an intergalactic Eurovision-esque contest. The prize: an official declaration of sentience, a welcome mat to the galactic community, and a slice of the galactic GDP. The stakes: if their performers come in dead last, humanity will be wiped out and Earth's resources will be pillaged. To everyone's bewilderment, local glampunk messiahs Decibel Jones and Oort St. Ultraviolet are chosen to perform to prove humanity's soul. While they flail in preparing for the contest, the readers are treated to Valente's imagination-stretching descriptions of past contests and alien races.
Valente's utter mastery and love of wordcraft are the book's greatest strengths. Her descriptions are vivid, hilarious tongue twisters that had my ribs aching and me often re-reading to make sure I fully absorbed them. The book's mantra of "Life is beautiful and life is stupid" blazes its truth across the pages. The characters are heartfelt and wonderful. The book does tend to wander, which I think may explain why people lose excitement in the middle bit, but whenever we returned to Decibel my slightly flagging attention was re-caught. I especially gathered strength from the message that sometimes, when things are terrible and there's nothing anyone can do anymore, ya just gotta make art.
I feel like I can't properly describe the book, with all its outer space queer dandy panache. I haven't read a Catherynne Valente book before, but my partner assures me that Space Opera is a very Valente book(TM), with excellent David Bowie/Hitchhiker's Guide flair. If you like science fiction at all, and especially if like queer brown glamrock, rocket Space Opera to the top of your TBR.
When Amara Lynn hosted #LGBTQwrimo in November 2018, I had no idea how much it would change my Twitter experience. Since then, I'm made friends, discovered books, been inspired, and talked way more about my own writing projects than I thought possible. When Lynn began promoting their own novella Masks, I added it to my TBR and knew I had a delightful little read in store for me.
Masks is the story of Avari, who is a social outcast by choice. In the beginning, Avari is about drowning in toxicity: he demands solitude (but he's desperately lonely), thinks himself as solely logical (as he channels all his stress & emotions into arson), and insults his classmates (in the comfort of his own head, where they can't challenge his accusations). When he's not burning cars, Avari is studying for double engineering degrees, and lo, enter Chayton, an assigned and inescapable lab partner. Chayton is the opposite of Avari. He believes in goodness and goes out of his way to connect to his fellows. Avari doesn't know what his deal is, but sparks are flying at the same time as a new superhero flies onto the scene, demanding Avari stop his fiery ways.
For a short novella, Lynn packs a lot in. Masks is a enemies-to-lovers tale and, in a further twist, we're in the villain's perspective. Avari's caustic personality may put off some readers. He reminds me of the "edgelord" figure in popular culture, like Kylo Ren, but with fire-bending powers and black wings. Trusting Lynn as I do, I stuck with the story, and the ending is all the more rewarding as Avari slowly opens up and changes his ways. The actual romance between Chayton and Avari is surprisingly sweet. I think the greatest strength of the book is Lynn's deft handling of popular tropes--how they make them queer and comforting. For fans of superheroes who are tired of waiting for their favs to be done right and be gay already, Masks is here to fill your mighty need.
If I had one quibble, it would be about Chayton. It's a spoiler so I'm smudging it.
I don't think it's a leap to say Chayton is Native American coded. He doesn't mention a specific tribe (perhaps he's one of the Costanoan people?), but he does have brown skin & long dark hair in a braid, and he mentions living on a reservation. As a writer and reader, I'm at times overally sensitive to the portrayal of Native Americans by a non-Native authors. In my undergrad Native American studies class, writing Native American characters was highly discouraged. Considering the history of genocide, non-Natives were instead encouraged to use their platforms to promote Native American creators and arts. Chayton's ethnicity is not the main focus of the book and only mentioned in passing, so I think everything's fine. It's clear that Lynn meant no disrespect, and I don't think it's inherently bad to have a Native American character. What might fall in a gray area is how Chayton receives his powers. To grow his wings, Chayton touches a feather earring, and this story choice struck me as uncomfortably close to the "Native American magics" stereotype. Avari has no magical help. He was born with the wings. It's unclear why Chayton couldn't have just inherited the same genetic quirk. As a white person, I'm not the expert on what is a harmful portrayal and what isn't, but the story choice was jarring in an otherwise comfortable read.
Masks is the story of Avari, who is a social outcast by choice. In the beginning, Avari is about drowning in toxicity: he demands solitude (but he's desperately lonely), thinks himself as solely logical (as he channels all his stress & emotions into arson), and insults his classmates (in the comfort of his own head, where they can't challenge his accusations). When he's not burning cars, Avari is studying for double engineering degrees, and lo, enter Chayton, an assigned and inescapable lab partner. Chayton is the opposite of Avari. He believes in goodness and goes out of his way to connect to his fellows. Avari doesn't know what his deal is, but sparks are flying at the same time as a new superhero flies onto the scene, demanding Avari stop his fiery ways.
For a short novella, Lynn packs a lot in. Masks is a enemies-to-lovers tale and, in a further twist, we're in the villain's perspective. Avari's caustic personality may put off some readers. He reminds me of the "edgelord" figure in popular culture, like Kylo Ren, but with fire-bending powers and black wings. Trusting Lynn as I do, I stuck with the story, and the ending is all the more rewarding as Avari slowly opens up and changes his ways. The actual romance between Chayton and Avari is surprisingly sweet. I think the greatest strength of the book is Lynn's deft handling of popular tropes--how they make them queer and comforting. For fans of superheroes who are tired of waiting for their favs to be done right and be gay already, Masks is here to fill your mighty need.
If I had one quibble, it would be about Chayton. It's a spoiler so I'm smudging it.
Undead Girl Gang was a surprise audiobook borrow from the library. Neither my partner nor I had read Lily Anderson's work before, but we'd heard many good things about Undead Girl Gang from #YALit twitter. In short, we came in with minimal expectations and were utterly blown away by this humorous feminist elegy to friendship cut much too short.
As my partner cross-stitched and I organized my Stardew Valley farm, the sassy tones of Rebecca Soler's stellar audiobook narration relayed Mila's story. As the lone fat Mexican girl in the very white small town of Cross Creek, Mila has only one friend, Riley, who is equally outcast because her family runs a "spooky" funeral home. The friends are further ostracized for being Wiccan and performing witchcraft. When Riley and two other girls are found dead in the space of a week, Mila knows there's a murderer afoot, despite the police happily labeling all the deaths as suicides. She turns to her faith for solace...and that solace takes the form of a necromancy spell. In a twist Mila herself wasn't expecting, the spell works and brings back not only Riley, but the two other murdered girls. Together, they team up to catch the killer.
Despite this thriller-esque premise, Undead Girl Gang is much more concerned about the young women's relationships than the murder mystery. Perhaps unsurprising for a book about death and transformation, the subtle reversals of characters are stupendous. The two other resurrected young women, Dayton and June, are at first glance stereotypical "mean girls." Anderson takes pains to complicate and, ultimately, fully humanize these characters. Even as we get to know them, Dayton & June grow beyond the toxic blend of ableism, racism, and misogyny they lived in while alive. In the beginning of the novel, Mila and Riley are proud of their rather caustic, f*ck-you attitudes. The book never condemns that (the world needs more angry girls), but Mila does re-learn some hope for humanity and is reminded that not everyone is trying to screw her over. There is no crime in being kind, and first impressions can be misleading. Lots of "Fear & Loathing" by Marina and the Diamonds vibes.
In addition to fantastic characters and character arcs, Anderson's world of small town America felt very realized, if not complete. Her descriptions are cinematic in their detail, and by hour 3 I wanted this to be a Netflix movie. Some of the world-building details could be made clearer. The line between real Wiccan practices and author-made magic was weirdly blurry. The Wiccan rule of three is mentioned often, but even at the end it's unclear what returned to Mila threefold. Other Wiccan (queer!) ladies warn Mila against performing "big magic" like necromancy, but it's unclear what qualifies as big magic and what doesn't. My partner, who once practiced Wicca, noted surprise when the concept of Mila as the Goddess' avatar was never brought up. None of these questions became so troublesome to detract from enjoying the book though, so I'm merely nitpicking.
Overall, read this book. If you're a teen processing grief, if you're adult with grief, Undead Girl Gang is here for you in all its magical feminist punk glory.
As my partner cross-stitched and I organized my Stardew Valley farm, the sassy tones of Rebecca Soler's stellar audiobook narration relayed Mila's story. As the lone fat Mexican girl in the very white small town of Cross Creek, Mila has only one friend, Riley, who is equally outcast because her family runs a "spooky" funeral home. The friends are further ostracized for being Wiccan and performing witchcraft. When Riley and two other girls are found dead in the space of a week, Mila knows there's a murderer afoot, despite the police happily labeling all the deaths as suicides. She turns to her faith for solace...and that solace takes the form of a necromancy spell. In a twist Mila herself wasn't expecting, the spell works and brings back not only Riley, but the two other murdered girls. Together, they team up to catch the killer.
Despite this thriller-esque premise, Undead Girl Gang is much more concerned about the young women's relationships than the murder mystery. Perhaps unsurprising for a book about death and transformation, the subtle reversals of characters are stupendous. The two other resurrected young women, Dayton and June, are at first glance stereotypical "mean girls." Anderson takes pains to complicate and, ultimately, fully humanize these characters. Even as we get to know them, Dayton & June grow beyond the toxic blend of ableism, racism, and misogyny they lived in while alive. In the beginning of the novel, Mila and Riley are proud of their rather caustic, f*ck-you attitudes. The book never condemns that (the world needs more angry girls), but Mila does re-learn some hope for humanity and is reminded that not everyone is trying to screw her over. There is no crime in being kind, and first impressions can be misleading. Lots of "Fear & Loathing" by Marina and the Diamonds vibes.
In addition to fantastic characters and character arcs, Anderson's world of small town America felt very realized, if not complete. Her descriptions are cinematic in their detail, and by hour 3 I wanted this to be a Netflix movie. Some of the world-building details could be made clearer. The line between real Wiccan practices and author-made magic was weirdly blurry. The Wiccan rule of three is mentioned often, but even at the end it's unclear what returned to Mila threefold. Other Wiccan (queer!) ladies warn Mila against performing "big magic" like necromancy, but it's unclear what qualifies as big magic and what doesn't. My partner, who once practiced Wicca, noted surprise when the concept of Mila as the Goddess' avatar was never brought up. None of these questions became so troublesome to detract from enjoying the book though, so I'm merely nitpicking.
Overall, read this book. If you're a teen processing grief, if you're adult with grief, Undead Girl Gang is here for you in all its magical feminist punk glory.
I e-met Britney Jackson through several rounds of Twitter writing games, including #writeLGBTQ and #LGBTQwrimo. Like a nincompoop, I thought none of her Creatures of Darkness books were released. When I finally cottoned on, I bought The Stone of Eklektos and started reading. And suddenly it was two o'clock in the morning and I was nowhere near tired and internally screaming about the ending. So yeah. Fricking brilliant book.
The Stone of Eklektos begins the story of Rose Foster, a perpetually snarky Ancient History major trying to work her way through college. Everything's going peachy until a mysterious stranger gives her an ancient diary and a red stone, claiming they belong to her. Rose tries to return to her routine of classes, waitressing, studying, and LOTR marathons, but that's difficult when two vampiric strangers show up. The psychopathic Theron wants to kill her. The troubled Kallias wants to save her. The choice is easy. Rose and Kallias launch on an life-altering journey to stop Theron, investigate the stone, and start putting the past to rest.
As other reviews have noted, the book's many strengths include the characters, pacing, and thrills. Rose and Kallias especially sparkle off the page. I honestly haven't had this burning of a desire for fanfiction in a long, long while, but there really needs to be fanfic that involves cuddles and flower crowns. Though the novel only takes place over a few weeks, their growing intimacy and sizzling sexual tension feels organic and natural. Rose's bisexuality is on-point representation, and she isn't the only queer character. The world-building is also a treat: for example, vampires under a century old are called "babies," and I want this to be canon in every vampire universe. I was surprised and happy about how open the vampires are about when and where they changed, since it reverses of the trope of origin stories as big, shocking reveals.
Because every book review's gotta have nitpicks, let's nitpick. The writing is overall uneven. Sometimes it's brilliant; other times, less than stellar. I highlighted many passages with quippy dialogue, lovely turns of phrase, and beautiful sentiments, but the excess of adverbs made my eyes glaze over a few times. There's a few lines of slut-shaming and negativity about sex work. It seems random how much a given vampire is in touch with modern culture. Again, these are quibbles, and my enjoyment of the story far outshone any errors.
If you like The Vampire Diaries, if you like True Blood, heck if you like any vampire stories at all, read Jackson's Creatures of Darkness. I laughed. My heart raced. For a story about the undead, I'd never felt more alive while reading.
The Stone of Eklektos begins the story of Rose Foster, a perpetually snarky Ancient History major trying to work her way through college. Everything's going peachy until a mysterious stranger gives her an ancient diary and a red stone, claiming they belong to her. Rose tries to return to her routine of classes, waitressing, studying, and LOTR marathons, but that's difficult when two vampiric strangers show up. The psychopathic Theron wants to kill her. The troubled Kallias wants to save her. The choice is easy. Rose and Kallias launch on an life-altering journey to stop Theron, investigate the stone, and start putting the past to rest.
As other reviews have noted, the book's many strengths include the characters, pacing, and thrills. Rose and Kallias especially sparkle off the page. I honestly haven't had this burning of a desire for fanfiction in a long, long while, but there really needs to be fanfic that involves cuddles and flower crowns. Though the novel only takes place over a few weeks, their growing intimacy and sizzling sexual tension feels organic and natural. Rose's bisexuality is on-point representation, and she isn't the only queer character. The world-building is also a treat: for example, vampires under a century old are called "babies," and I want this to be canon in every vampire universe. I was surprised and happy about how open the vampires are about when and where they changed, since it reverses of the trope of origin stories as big, shocking reveals.
Because every book review's gotta have nitpicks, let's nitpick. The writing is overall uneven. Sometimes it's brilliant; other times, less than stellar. I highlighted many passages with quippy dialogue, lovely turns of phrase, and beautiful sentiments, but the excess of adverbs made my eyes glaze over a few times. There's a few lines of slut-shaming and negativity about sex work. It seems random how much a given vampire is in touch with modern culture. Again, these are quibbles, and my enjoyment of the story far outshone any errors.
If you like The Vampire Diaries, if you like True Blood, heck if you like any vampire stories at all, read Jackson's Creatures of Darkness. I laughed. My heart raced. For a story about the undead, I'd never felt more alive while reading.
This review is going to be hard to write. Like with the other two novels in The Walker Boys series, As You Come Undone was an utter delight and trying to get coherent sense out of a brain of delightful fannish squealing is difficult. I just adore Molli Moran's work.
As You Come Undone has us returning to the small Southern town of Baylor for Ethan Walker and Jenna Leigh Rutledge's love story. The baby of the family, Ethan has always felt he must be "the fixer"--yanno, that one family member who's always there to help, lend a shoulder to cry on, and otherwise provide support. However, since everything's going well for the family, Ethan's...kinda flailing. He finally has time for himself, but what does a guy who looks like Southern Captain America even want out of life? His best friend Darren suggests a weekend at the beach. Meanwhile, local librarian Jenna is stressed and under duress over the library's re-opening, her flaring carpel tunnel, and her upcoming divorce from Chuck the Schmuck. Her best friend Sadie suggests a weekend at the beach. When Jenna and Ethan collide on the dance floor of the SAME beach hotel, sparks fly to passionate inferno.
As you may know, I read up to three books at once in my daily life, so when I say, "OMG, guess what happened in this book I'm reading" to my partner, she usually has to mentally cycle through a list and pick which book she thinks I'm referring to. Not with this one. Whenever I was thinking about As You Come Undone, I was bright-eyed, cheeks flushed, and butt wiggling happy and excited. The characters! The plot! The emotions! The Captain America jokes! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! The Walker family of the previous novels of course makes appearances, and it was brilliant to see how the couples' of the past novels are flourishing. Jenna and her friend Sadie practically stepped off the page with their vivacity. Ethan and Jenna's struggles were raw and real. Some characters come out as bisexual and I happy-screamed. I had such a good time with this book.
If you like romance with emotional maturity and more sizzle than you know what to do with, read The Walker Boys series and As You Come Undone. It's absolutely fantastic. I treasure every page.
As You Come Undone has us returning to the small Southern town of Baylor for Ethan Walker and Jenna Leigh Rutledge's love story. The baby of the family, Ethan has always felt he must be "the fixer"--yanno, that one family member who's always there to help, lend a shoulder to cry on, and otherwise provide support. However, since everything's going well for the family, Ethan's...kinda flailing. He finally has time for himself, but what does a guy who looks like Southern Captain America even want out of life? His best friend Darren suggests a weekend at the beach. Meanwhile, local librarian Jenna is stressed and under duress over the library's re-opening, her flaring carpel tunnel, and her upcoming divorce from Chuck the Schmuck. Her best friend Sadie suggests a weekend at the beach. When Jenna and Ethan collide on the dance floor of the SAME beach hotel, sparks fly to passionate inferno.
As you may know, I read up to three books at once in my daily life, so when I say, "OMG, guess what happened in this book I'm reading" to my partner, she usually has to mentally cycle through a list and pick which book she thinks I'm referring to. Not with this one. Whenever I was thinking about As You Come Undone, I was bright-eyed, cheeks flushed, and butt wiggling happy and excited. The characters! The plot! The emotions! The Captain America jokes! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! The Walker family of the previous novels of course makes appearances, and it was brilliant to see how the couples' of the past novels are flourishing. Jenna and her friend Sadie practically stepped off the page with their vivacity. Ethan and Jenna's struggles were raw and real. Some characters come out as bisexual and I happy-screamed. I had such a good time with this book.
If you like romance with emotional maturity and more sizzle than you know what to do with, read The Walker Boys series and As You Come Undone. It's absolutely fantastic. I treasure every page.
After accidentally listening to one of the last Jeeves and Wooster novels, The Tie That Binds, my partner and I picked next to listen to some of the first Jeeves stories in My Man Jeeves through the library's audiobook selection. A consistently riotous time was had by all.
Collecting some Jeeves and Wooster stories and a surprising number of "Reggie Pepper" stories, My Man Jeeves showed off Wodehouse's sparkling short story skills. Something about reading Wodehouse makes me feel like I'm getting away with something, just as the characters are. I have too much fun reading/listening to them. Though the stories take place in the 1920s, they're full of the humor, splashdash, and casual male homoerotica that I'd love to see more of today. If I had one quibble, it would be that the plots are rote after awhile: Situation, Unexpected Complication 1, Unexpected Complication 2, and Very Unexpected Complication 3, and Surprising Solution. But overall I didn't mind, so long as Bertie continues his silly banter and Jeeves swoops in.
Wodehouse is a humorous classic delight and my only regret is not reading him sooner. Onward, Jeeves, to the next book!
Collecting some Jeeves and Wooster stories and a surprising number of "Reggie Pepper" stories, My Man Jeeves showed off Wodehouse's sparkling short story skills. Something about reading Wodehouse makes me feel like I'm getting away with something, just as the characters are. I have too much fun reading/listening to them. Though the stories take place in the 1920s, they're full of the humor, splashdash, and casual male homoerotica that I'd love to see more of today. If I had one quibble, it would be that the plots are rote after awhile: Situation, Unexpected Complication 1, Unexpected Complication 2, and Very Unexpected Complication 3, and Surprising Solution. But overall I didn't mind, so long as Bertie continues his silly banter and Jeeves swoops in.
Wodehouse is a humorous classic delight and my only regret is not reading him sooner. Onward, Jeeves, to the next book!
After absolutely loving The Alchemist's Daughter, I immediately requested European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman from the library, and my only disappointment is the third one's not out yet.
The Athena Club is back for another extraordinary adventure. While the first book felt very contained, like the author wasn't sure if a sequel would be published or not, this book stretches and expands and breathes and teases in a delightful manner. After receiving an urgent summons from Lucinda Van Helsing and Mina Murray, the Club members launch on a grand tour of the Continent, with stops in Paris, Vienna, and Budapest. Along the way they rejoin the Circus, seek aide from the glamorous Irene Norton (!!!), have a session with Freud (!), meet Carmilla and Laura (!!!), clash with Hyde, and have tea with none other than Dracula. Everything comes to a head at the annual SA Conference, where it's time to fight Van Helsing and his unethical scientific practices head on.
If you can't tell by the exclamation points, I was very excited about Goss' decision to include more Victorian lit characters and historical figures. Everything I loved about the last book was dialed to 11 in this one. Female friendship, ode to sci-fi creature features, interjections, domestic concerns, adventuring, and feminism sparkle and gleam. Goss does address some of the diversity wishes I had from the last one, but it's not always successful. Laura and Carmilla are acknowledged lesbians, and their love is admired and normalized. As for race, Catherine is joined by Zora, a British Indian woman who joins the circus with a snake charming act. I was happy at first, but when Catherine accidentally does something racist, she argues that, as a former puma, she "doesn't see race"...which would make sense if Catherine struggled with other major social norms and didn't have a best friend in Clarence, whose life revolves around the dichotomy of racial stereotypes and reality.
However, Catherine's faux pas is a small part in 700 pages of epic adventures and feminist shenanigans. I'm eagerly awaiting the finale of the trilogy and also very sad this series won't just go on forever and ever.
The Athena Club is back for another extraordinary adventure. While the first book felt very contained, like the author wasn't sure if a sequel would be published or not, this book stretches and expands and breathes and teases in a delightful manner. After receiving an urgent summons from Lucinda Van Helsing and Mina Murray, the Club members launch on a grand tour of the Continent, with stops in Paris, Vienna, and Budapest. Along the way they rejoin the Circus, seek aide from the glamorous Irene Norton (!!!), have a session with Freud (!), meet Carmilla and Laura (!!!), clash with Hyde, and have tea with none other than Dracula. Everything comes to a head at the annual SA Conference, where it's time to fight Van Helsing and his unethical scientific practices head on.
If you can't tell by the exclamation points, I was very excited about Goss' decision to include more Victorian lit characters and historical figures. Everything I loved about the last book was dialed to 11 in this one. Female friendship, ode to sci-fi creature features, interjections, domestic concerns, adventuring, and feminism sparkle and gleam. Goss does address some of the diversity wishes I had from the last one, but it's not always successful. Laura and Carmilla are acknowledged lesbians, and their love is admired and normalized. As for race, Catherine is joined by Zora, a British Indian woman who joins the circus with a snake charming act. I was happy at first, but when Catherine accidentally does something racist, she argues that, as a former puma, she "doesn't see race"...which would make sense if Catherine struggled with other major social norms and didn't have a best friend in Clarence, whose life revolves around the dichotomy of racial stereotypes and reality.
However, Catherine's faux pas is a small part in 700 pages of epic adventures and feminist shenanigans. I'm eagerly awaiting the finale of the trilogy and also very sad this series won't just go on forever and ever.
Ever since I first read Jane Eyre in middle school, I've been a fan of the book, the character, and Brontë as an author. I've been vaguely aware of the new proliferation of Eyre retellings, but Jane Steele is the first I've read and I'm happy to report I fell butt over teakettle for it.
Jane Steele follows the titular character in her quest for happiness. Orphaned at a young age, Steele, like Eyre, is told as a child that she is an evil burden on the remaining family and going to Hell. Unlike Eyre, Steele convinces herself that she deserves these slanders: whether by accident or intention, she has left a trail of corpses, delivering justice to her tormentors and abusers. As she grows older, she follows Eyre's path of school and teaching, though the details are pleasantly changed. Mr. Rochester is transformed to Mr. Charles Thornfield, a Sikh convert and veteran of the Sikh Wars. The mystery surrounding him and his household does not contain a mad wife (thank God), but a missing trunk, a death, and the East India Company. As she uncovers clues and betrayals, Steele must use all her strength and resources to thwart the corporation that has brought harm to so many.
Set in Brontë's world and fully aware of its source material, Jane Steele is a marvelous moral quagmire. Steele isn't a serial killer in the psychological-sense. She's just killed an awful lot of awful men by the end of the book. Faye takes pains to have Steele dance on the knife point of heroine and anti-heroine, and that dance is engrossing. Thornfield's mystery is pretty basic, especially if you're a fan of A Little Princess or Sherlock Holmes, but I didn't care. I was having too much fun with Faye's world-building, characters, and absolute dissection of race, colonialism, and patriarchy in early Victorian England. I soaked up every detail of Thornfield, his friend Sardar, their ward Sahjara, and Steele's school friend Clarke. I laughed with them and cried for them. As a writer, I strive for Faye's accessible language that is also beautiful and ornate.
For those wondering, the story is feminist, and the cast is diverse. There are queer characters (including an asexual man!) and characters of color. Steele goes from riches to poverty and everything in-between. The dichotomy of toxic and non-toxic masculinity is fascinating. I had a grand time, and I'm definitely looking up Faye's other work.
In conclusion, read Jane Eyre, then read Wide Sargasso Sea and then read Jane Steele. It's a must for Brontë fans everywhere.
Jane Steele follows the titular character in her quest for happiness. Orphaned at a young age, Steele, like Eyre, is told as a child that she is an evil burden on the remaining family and going to Hell. Unlike Eyre, Steele convinces herself that she deserves these slanders: whether by accident or intention, she has left a trail of corpses, delivering justice to her tormentors and abusers. As she grows older, she follows Eyre's path of school and teaching, though the details are pleasantly changed. Mr. Rochester is transformed to Mr. Charles Thornfield, a Sikh convert and veteran of the Sikh Wars. The mystery surrounding him and his household does not contain a mad wife (thank God), but a missing trunk, a death, and the East India Company. As she uncovers clues and betrayals, Steele must use all her strength and resources to thwart the corporation that has brought harm to so many.
Set in Brontë's world and fully aware of its source material, Jane Steele is a marvelous moral quagmire. Steele isn't a serial killer in the psychological-sense. She's just killed an awful lot of awful men by the end of the book. Faye takes pains to have Steele dance on the knife point of heroine and anti-heroine, and that dance is engrossing. Thornfield's mystery is pretty basic, especially if you're a fan of A Little Princess or Sherlock Holmes, but I didn't care. I was having too much fun with Faye's world-building, characters, and absolute dissection of race, colonialism, and patriarchy in early Victorian England. I soaked up every detail of Thornfield, his friend Sardar, their ward Sahjara, and Steele's school friend Clarke. I laughed with them and cried for them. As a writer, I strive for Faye's accessible language that is also beautiful and ornate.
For those wondering, the story is feminist, and the cast is diverse. There are queer characters (including an asexual man!) and characters of color. Steele goes from riches to poverty and everything in-between. The dichotomy of toxic and non-toxic masculinity is fascinating. I had a grand time, and I'm definitely looking up Faye's other work.
In conclusion, read Jane Eyre, then read Wide Sargasso Sea and then read Jane Steele. It's a must for Brontë fans everywhere.
My partner and I are big fans of The Handmaid's Tale, so when we saw In Other Worlds: SF and the Human Imagination available for free on audiobook through the library, we snatched it up. What we found was an unexpected tour de force on Atwood's relationship to the genre and her thoughts on the inter-generational relationships between past and current SF books.
Read by Susan Denaker and Atwood, In Other Worlds is a collection of essays, speeches, and reviews Atwood has done over the years. Part memoir, part academic discussion, Atwood parses her thoughts such topics as the definition of science fiction, the modern state of utopia/dystopia writing, different interpretations of The Island of Dr. Moreau, and books like H. Rider Haggard's She, Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, and Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels. There are also some excerpts from her fictions that she thinks embody the science fiction genre. Through it all we learn about her life and her journey writing and reading science fiction, from rural Canadian girlhood reading funny pages and books from her father's basement to award-winning author and critic.
As a writer myself, this book was a lot. This isn't a book on how to write science fiction, but its discussions of what is science fiction, its history, and its modern function, were invaluable nonetheless. I itched for a pencil to mark up a book with, because there were so many passages that resonated with me. The only problem, besides not having a physical copy, is I'd probably underline the whole book. Atwood's clever wordplay and deep thought are balanced by their accessibility. I feared my partner would grow bored of a book about writing, but she was just as invested and fascinated as me. I definitely recommend In Other Worlds to any and all sci-fi fans and writers out there. Whether you've read Atwood before or not, this book will be an excellent and invigorating treat.
Read by Susan Denaker and Atwood, In Other Worlds is a collection of essays, speeches, and reviews Atwood has done over the years. Part memoir, part academic discussion, Atwood parses her thoughts such topics as the definition of science fiction, the modern state of utopia/dystopia writing, different interpretations of The Island of Dr. Moreau, and books like H. Rider Haggard's She, Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, and Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels. There are also some excerpts from her fictions that she thinks embody the science fiction genre. Through it all we learn about her life and her journey writing and reading science fiction, from rural Canadian girlhood reading funny pages and books from her father's basement to award-winning author and critic.
As a writer myself, this book was a lot. This isn't a book on how to write science fiction, but its discussions of what is science fiction, its history, and its modern function, were invaluable nonetheless. I itched for a pencil to mark up a book with, because there were so many passages that resonated with me. The only problem, besides not having a physical copy, is I'd probably underline the whole book. Atwood's clever wordplay and deep thought are balanced by their accessibility. I feared my partner would grow bored of a book about writing, but she was just as invested and fascinated as me. I definitely recommend In Other Worlds to any and all sci-fi fans and writers out there. Whether you've read Atwood before or not, this book will be an excellent and invigorating treat.